Without the Mask
by depplosion
Summary: The dynamic tale of young Erik and Mme. Giry's mysterious past. Continuous. Based on A.L. Webber's Erik, with obvious influence from Susan Kay. Alternates between Erik and Mme. Giry's pov. My first fic in this fandom, please let me know what you think!


I did not raise my head when I heard them enter my tent. I couldn't remember how many crowds had passed through, that night, but I knew that this would likely be one of the last. It seemed to be getting late, though I really had no way of knowing. I rarely ever saw the light of day in quantities any larger than what managed to squeeze through the small tear in the roof of the tent in which I was kept. I'd grown to appreciate darkness over the years, but that did not mean that I didn't long for the light and warmth that only the sun could give to one such as myself, for I'd learned at a very early age that it could come from no human being.

I paid no attention to them as they gathered around my cage, crowding in as near as possible. I was vaguely aware of Cherese's shrill shrieking as she situated herself atop my cage and looked down at me with black, sympathetic eyes. She was nearly always present for my showings, as though by climbing up to the roof of my cage and screaming would somehow warn me of what was to come, or that I would somehow be protected by her presence. I appeciated this small gesture and tried not to be angry with her, for she didn't know that there was nothing I could do, that her warning was pointless and that her presence went unnoticed by anyone other than myself. She was only trying to help, and she was the only friend I had.

Before my keeper even stepped into the cage, curiosity got the better of me and I raised my head to glimpse the mass of people all around me. Through the tiny pin-holes in my crude burlap mask, my eyes fixed themselves upon a young girl being pressed against the bars by the shoving, snickering people behind her. I could tell at a glance that she was nothing like them. She gripped the cold metal in her small hands as though hanging on for dear life. The look on her face was of obvious unhappiness, and I could sense just by looking at her that she did not want to be there, at all. I felt an odd sort of kinship with her, and in the split second where her eyes inadvertantly bore into my hidden ones, I felt my heart give a slight jump against my rib cage. It was almost as though it were making some effort to be nearer to her, even as I remained immobile on the least filthy patch of straw in the cage. Suddenly, I felt the need to look away from her. As miserable as I was, something about her expression made me even more sad and uncomfortable, and I could not stand to receive such pity in this silent and strange way from this silent and strange little girl whom I would never see again after everyone left.

I bowed my head, turning my attentions once again to the self-constructed play-thing in the form of a monkey which sat in my lap. I tapped the tiny golden cymbals I'd affixed to its hands together so that they made a lovely little ringing sound, like miniature church bells or the tinkle of a fairy's wings. I was fully aware of Javert's intimidating presence behind me as his long shadow fell over me like the shadow of death, yet I remained perfectly still, focused entirely on the little grinning toy between my hands. I remained calm and nonchalant, completely resigned to my inevitable fate like a worn-down, defeated criminal waiting his much-deserved execution. But I was not yet a criminal. I was a child of eleven, made to suffer for no other reason than to satisfy the perverted curiousity of others and put a few coins in a greedy man's purse. My pain, my cursed ugliness amused them. But I was used to it. It almost did not phase me, at all.

I did not cry out when he kicked the toy from my hands and grabbed me. I did not move to stop him when he snatched the bag from my head, yanked my head back by a handful of hair and proceeded to whip me, all the while letting those hateful words "Devil's child" fall from his lips. I tried to keep my eyes shut the entire time, tried to ignore what was happening, but, as with every time I tried this, I failed. I simply could not concentrate. Any other time, yes, but not now when I needed it most. I was unable to block out the jeers and blows, the sting and stench of rotten food and worse being flung at me from between the bars. Try as I might, I could not find sanctuary in that beautiful world of music and serenity that I'd created for myself in my mind. So, reluctantly and overcome with the need to see the faces of my persecutors, I opened my eyes, and immediately, almost automatically, they fell on that same girl. Her expression was even more mournful now, her pretty face drooping into a frown that reminded me of a hungry puppy I'd once seen wandering alone down the street. It was not from the pain that I felt tears begin to burn my eyes, nor from the usual humilation, but from the horror and pity that I saw in her eyes. It was my own feelings mingled with hers and reflected back out at me through those large dark eyes. She alone was aware of the fact that I was, like them, a living, breathing human being with feelings that could be easily damaged, a heart that could be, and had been, easily broken. It puzzled and intrigued me even as the whip fell, blow after blow, onto my sore back.

When the beating was over and the crowd had tossed its last coin, I hastily took up the itchy, hateful thing and threw it over my head. I was safe again. They were gone. No one could see my face, now.

Javert was in the corner farthest from me, greedily gathering up his profit on his hands and knees. I turned my head just in time to see the little sad girl lift the flap of the tent to leave. Suddenly, something inside me began to howl like a wounded beast, demanding that I not let her get away. I had the sudden impulse to run to the side of the cage closest to the tent's opening and scream and yell and bang on the bars like the wild animal I had been treated as for so many years. My heart was racing, tears blurred my vision. I couldn't let her get away. I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing her again. I began to panic, but I knew that I could not allow it. Young as I was, I knew that nothing could be accomplished if I did not think clearly and keep control of myself. My eyes darted about the filthy cage, searching desperately for an answer. Was there nothing I could use to escape this horrible place? I all ready knew there were no hair pins, no small, slender objects with which I could pick the lock. I'd searched the cage ten times over, disturbing all of the straw and digging in the dirt below it till my fingers bled.

Then I saw it, coiled around one of the bars like a snake lying prostrate in the grass, waiting to strike. Of course it would have done me no good when I was alone. But he had the keys. I'd seen them jingling from his belt, countless times, just at my eye level, almost tauntingly. So often I could have reached out to grab them, only to have my hand slapped away. Not this time.

Quickly, almost mechanically, my nimble fingers untied the knot that secured the rope to the bars. I grasped it firmly in both my trembling hands and walked silently over to where he crouched with his back to me. Without hesitating a moment to allow for moral debate or let fear sieze me, I lunged at him, swinging the length of rope over his head and pulling back as hard as I could. I braced myself against his back with my knee and tugged with all my might. My ears filled with the delightful sounds of his gasping, choking breaths as he desperately clutched at the rope, unable to dislodge it from his throat. His will to live was strong, but my will to kill, to escape, was much stronger. With one final tug, he fell the the ground, silent forever more. Never again would I have to hear him curse at me. Never again would I have to endure pain and humilation at his hand. He was dead, and I was free.

Panting and sweating with exertion, I bent and scooped the rag doll up from where it sat beside his body and cradled it in my arms. Where I had been a cold killer just moments before, I now resumed my role as an innocent child, alone and afraid. I lifted my head, and to my surprise, saw the girl standing in the doorway of the tent, staring open-mouthed in shock and horror at me. We simply stood and stared at one another for what seemed like the longest time. I was accustomed to people staring at me, but this was entirely different. I felt as though, despite the fact that my face was hidden from her, she could see past the mask, into my eyes, into my troubled and abused soul. I knew that she acknowledged my humanity, and she seemed to know that I possessed this knowledge. We didn't say anything, only stared in silence. It was the loudest silence I'd ever experienced in my life. So much was said, though neither of our mouths had even moved. Eventually, I remembered myself, but before I could move to collect the keys from my dead master, I heard a cry from the back of the tent.

"Murderer!" a man cried angrily in my direction. I could see more behind him. They were all shouting and waving torches. I felt panic rise up into my throat and begin to choke me, once again, but the girl had all ready pushed open the door to my cage, grabbed me by the hand and was leading me quickly out of the tent.

We sped through the carnival grounds like two rats being pursued by a horde of hungry cats. Colours and sounds rushed past me in a blur of sickening motion. My legs were weak from a lack of proper exersize, but I didn't dare allow myself to stumble or trip. I forced myself to keep up with her the entire way out of the gypsy camp, into the dark streets of the unfamiliar city and through countless narrow alleys, never letting go her hand till we'd reached our assumed destination. All I could see through the holes in my mask was a large stone wall which seemed to go on forever. I wanted to ask her why we had stopped. I could hear the crowd behind us growing nearer and I saw the flicker of their torches on the wall. Just when I was about to ask her why we'd stopped here, she indicated an iron grid near the bottom of the wall, right in front of us that I had not seen till just then. She quickly removed the grid and ushered me inside. For a split second, I was afraid for her, for she had not followed me. Immediately in front of me was another iron door, but this one was more intricately wrought, with swirls and lace-like patterns where on the other there had been simple bars. Such a seemingly delicate flowery pattern, yet constructed from such strong material. It was a beautiful contradiction. But I would take more time to admire every detail of the building later, and alter it as I saw fit. Now, I pushed it open and stepped into a small room smelling of candle wax and dampness. It seemed to be a chapel of some sort, with paintings of angels and saints on the walls and two small racks of candles, some of which were lit and filling the cold room with their soft golden glow. It was a very beautiful room, one of many rooms I would come to know well over my years in this of yet unknown location. Still, it lacked the one thing that I searched for.

My head turned in all directions, my eyes darting frantically from one corner of the room to another as I tried to find the merciful angel that had led me to this hidden sanctuary. Thankfully, I was not left alone to worry for long, for I soon heard footsteps coming from the passageway to my left and within seconds her golden head was in sight again. She quickly took my hand, and, now that the danger of the crowd was far behind us, I was able to fully comprehend the impact that this simple act of kindness had upon me. We entered another, darker passageway, and her hand only gripped mine more tightly. I was suddenly ashamed of my dirtiness, the disgusting grime that covered my entire body. She was so clean, so pure, I did not want to sully her with my evil filth, yet I could not have pulled away if I wanted to. And I didn't, for it was the only semblance of kind human contact I'd had since before I could remember. She'd seen my face, seen me kill a man with little more than my own hands, yet she saved me from an angry mob and now she held my hand without hesitation or revulsion. She did not even know my name, or anything about me at all, yet she was touching me. To anyone else it would have seemed trivial, hardly worth shedding tears, yet, as we plunged deeper in to unknown darkness, I began to weep silently.

When she took her hand from mine, I realized fully the darkness that surrounded me. I was suddenly very cold and I felt myself shiver involuntarily. She was standing right beside me, I could hear her breathing, feel her warm breath lightly brush my bare skin. And then the angel spoke.

"I must stop, now. You will be safe here."

"Th-thank-you," I managed to choke out. The warmth of her smile reached me through the pitch blackness and another tear fell onto my bare chest. I silently wondered how on earth she knew about this dark and secret place, hidden from the eyes of everyone who wished to do me harm. I would have asked her, but I was too flooded with emotion and ebbing adrenaline to articulate my thoughts properly. I desperately hoped there would be more time for conversation, later.

"Stay here. Don't venture any further till I can bring light." I said nothing but nodded my head. Though I knew she could not see me, she seemed to have understood, and in my mind's eye I saw so clearly the sad smile that graced her lips as she laid a hand lightly upon my shoulder. "I will return tomorrow to bring food and blankets for you."

I thanked her again, the tears still flowing freely down my doubly hidden face. I could not believe her kindness. It was not till after she'd left I realized that it was no longer necessary for me to keep my face covered with the horrid thing, made even more uncomfortable by the hot tears cascading down my flushed cheeks. With a sob I tore it from my head and threw it to the floor, vowing to never wear it again so long as I lived. I did not know how long that would be, for though I probably would have been able to find my way back into light without her help, I did not really want to. I didn't want to move. I was frozen with terror. And so I became completely dependent on her of my own free will. I would not survive long without food or drink. If she chose not to be true to her word, I would die in the darkness that I was born into, alone and afraid. I was at her mercy, which fortunately proved to be endless.

With nothing but these morbid thoughts and my stuffed monkey to keep me company, I huddled against the wall and tried to get some rest. The wall felt cool and soothing against the abrasions on my back, and my face felt better now that it was free of that wicked scrap of cloth. But I was still so afraid. I clutched my toy close to my racing heart and drew my knees up to my forehead. I tried to comfort myself, to convince myself that there was nothing more evil in the darkness than myself, that nothing would touch me to hurt me. No matter what I told myself, I would not be assured, and I became more and more terrified with every passing second, every hollow drip that echoed in the vast blackness around me. I absently began to make the monkey play its little cymbals for me, humming along softly a little improvisational tune. The frightening noises my imagination had conjured were chased away by the sound of my voice and slowly, I became calm. My breathing and heartbeat returned to their usual pace, the lump in my throat subsided and my cheeks were allowed to dry without the threat of fresh tears falling. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was in a soft, comfortable place, full of golden candlelight, the smell of blooming roses, and music worthy of heaven. In the silent darkness I was finally allowed to travel to that magical place in my mind I had needed so desperately to retreat to, barely an hour ago. Now, not only was I safe, but I was no longer afraid.

That night, I dreamed of the kind, bright angel who saved me from my cruel life and touched my dirty, murdering hands without a second thought. When I awoke, she was there, her young face radiant in the orange glow of the lantern. So relieved was I that she had not left me alone to die in the darkness, that I cried, once more. It was then as the tears poured down my face that I noticed the absense of scratchy fabric against my skin, of fetid, humid air produced by my trapped breaths. Forgetting my vow to never again don the hateful burlap mask, I reached instinctively for it, groping blindly at the ground all around me. I could not see through my tears, and was so startled when she touched my arm to halt my frenzied search that I gasped and immediately stopped sobbing.

"You don't need it," she said simply, as though she'd known exactly what I'd been looking for. I was shocked into silence, saying nothing and blinking the last few lingering tears away as she unloaded the basket she'd brought for me. I stared hungrily at the bread and cheese and wasted no time in grabbing for them, not bothering with the good manners thrown at me by my mother when I was very young. I gulped down wine straight from the bottle and shoveled grapes into my mouth by the handful. She sat in patient silence, watching me consume my first decent meal in years in this rather crude manner that would have surely offended anyone else, but seemed to please her. When I'd finished, I showed my first sign of civilized behaviour by daubing the corner of my mouth with the napkin with which the bread had been wrapped and thanking her. I was so enormously grateful for all that she'd done for me, so incredibly thankful that a simple "thank-you" didn't seem at all sufficient.

"Do not worry," she said softly, seeming to sense my feelings of inadequacy. Her eyes were pleading and sympathetic, and her voice was as gentle as the brush of an angel's wings against my ear. "You're safe now. You're going to be all right."

Her smile would have made me believe even the most radical of lies. 


End file.
